


Endearments

by Tehri



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beds, Couples Shenanigans, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Luckiest hobbits in the Shire, Nicknames, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-30 20:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13959774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: "I swear I couldn't love you more than I do right now, and yet I know I will tomorrow." — Leo ChristopherLove is not always easy, but sometimes the person you share it with makes it seem so simple.Seven sweet moments between seven couples.





	1. Heart

It was a rare treat for the Thain of the Shire to be allowed a quiet morning in bed, but a treat that he enjoyed immensely. With seven children in the smial, not to mention a slew of guests on most occasions, it was difficult for Gerontius Took to find a moment when he could simply wake up and decide to stay in bed. Not showing himself until second breakfast or elevenses was a habit he’d not indulged in very often since he was but a tween.

The previous day, he’d managed to wrap up not only six different business-discussions with different heads of families from all over the Shire, but he’d also finally seen to finding someone to fix the leaking part of the roof in the north wing, tidied up his study, and entertained his children in the evening before their bedtime to ensure his dear wife Adamanta would get a little rest. In all fairness, he rather deserved a lay-in.

There was something special, he thought, in waking up to the sun shining through the windows just after second breakfast; something made more special by rolling over, stretching languidly, and finding Adamanta standing nude before the mirror, turning this way and that.

“My dear, you are a pure vision of beauty, but I hear staring at your own reflection is called vanity,” he said, grinning lazily when she turned a questioning gaze at him. “Whatever you are up to, my heart, I certainly don’t mind waking up to it.”

“Should I twirl?” she asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at her husband. “Or would you like a portrait to commemorate the occasion?”

“Alas, you know my skill with a pen.” Gerontius heaved a sigh as he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I could never do reality justice.”

Unashamed, Adamanta came to sit on the edge of the bed, allowing her husband to draw her in for a kiss. He smiled still as he stroked her grey-streaked dark curls and let his hand fall to her dark-skinned shoulder. Twenty years they’d been married, and still he could not quite believe that he’d been so lucky.

“What ails you, dearest?” he asked her softly. “I thought I’d not see you until elevenses or luncheon, at the earliest. What brings you back to our bedroom at this hour?”

“I visited mistress Opal,” Adamanta answered at length, frowning as she chewed on the inside of her lip, something she only ever did when she worried about something. “I should have started showing already, and I can’t think of why nothing is happening.”

For a long while, Gerontius sat as though frozen and only stared at her, green eyes unblinking, until Adamanta flushed and looked away.

“I know, I should have told you,” she said quietly. “Sooner, at any rate. But I wanted to be certain. And even you’ve noticed that I’ve been, well, irregular before. And with our children – goodness, it’s a miracle I’ve bled at all! But I spoke with mistress Opal this morning, and she confirmed it. But still, I’m not showing yet, and I must be at least four months along by now, and-“

She was rather rudely interrupted as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist and all but threw her backwards onto the bed. Before she had a chance to ask what on earth he was doing, her husband leant over her and kissed her soundly.

“You, my dear heart,” he said, grinning like a child on their birthday, “are an absolute marvel and deserve a place among the stories of old legends!”

“For being with child?” she asked breathlessly as he dove in for another kiss. “Oh for- Gerontius, let me breathe!” Though he obliged her, he turned his attention instead to her neck, seemingly enjoying how she squirmed beneath him. “You are absolutely insufferable! No, off with you! We are not starting anything now! It’s almost time for elevenses, and our children could come running at any moment!”

The Took laughed as he moved away, climbing off the bed and pulling her along.

“Forgive me, but I thought we’d agreed to slow down,” he said, grinning unrepentantly as she gave him a baleful look. “And yet, here we are, apparently with number nine on the way. What did mistress Opal say?”

“She asked if the herbs aren’t helping,” Adamanta admitted reluctantly, giving a small smile when her husband laughed again. “And suggested that the only way to be sure is to not share a bed at all. But we tried that, remember?”

“I remember father walking in on us in the study a few times, and then practically ordering us to start sleeping in the same bed again.” Gerontius paused on his way to the wardrobe and eyed her thoughtfully as she stepped over to the chair where she had placed her shift and dress and began to clothe herself. “I also remember you stating before that the herbs do not help you much.”

She met his eyes in the mirror as she put on her dress, her smile growing somewhat wider.

“They help, dear,” she stated. “But they are less effective than they ought to be, hence our many children. And speaking of them, you should get dressed. Still in your nightclothes at this hour – can you imagine what an example you’re setting for your sons?” She paused when she had properly laced her bodice and tied off the ribbon, her smile vanishing as she caught sight of her reflection again. “Should I speak with Opal again, dear? About not showing yet?”

Gerontius hesitated. Though having fathered eight children previously, he’d never been certain of what to do or say when his wife fretted like this; she was always so stable, so secure in herself. But she held no small amount of pride in having birthed child after child without any problems and without any pregnancy having been difficult.

“Let me see,” he said at last, briefly abandoning the idea of clothing himself as he stepped over to his wife and knelt before her. “There ought to be at least a bump by now.”

“Precisely, but I can’t see it,” Adamanta sighed. She placed her hands over his when they came to rest against her belly, and he felt her tremble ever so slightly. “What if something is wrong?”

“My mother told me that she’d not started showing until she was about five months along when she carried me,” Gerontius said thoughtfully as he slowly rubbed his hands over her belly, trying to feel if there was a bump. “Addie-love, nothing needs to be wrong simply because it’s taking time.” He shook his head after a long while and got to his feet, wrapping his arms around her. “Do not fret so, my heart. Wait a little longer – perhaps another week or two – and then speak with Opal again if nothing seems to be happening. For now, all we can do is hope.”

They held on to each other a long while before Adamanta pressed a gentle kiss to her husband’s cheek and disentangled herself from his embrace.

“Let’s not tell the children yet,” she said softly. “I’d rather not bring their hopes up for another little sibling before we know for certain.” She smiled up at him and tugged lightly at the collar of his nightshirt. “For now, I believe you must get dressed. It’s about time for elevenses, and if neither of us show up, we’ll have a horde of little ones at the door clamouring for their father.”

“Our children are horrid little goblins, to hound their poor father so,” Gerontius stated earnestly, only to laugh as he dodged a swat at his arm. “Very well, I’ll get dressed. I’d promised to go with Isengrim to see how his archery lessons are coming along, at any rate. He’ll be mighty cross with me if I laze about in bed all day instead, tempting as it sounds.”

“Tempting indeed,” hummed Adamanta, and Gerontius could feel her eyes on him as he pulled the nightshirt over his head and padded over to his wardrobe. “Perhaps we do need a day to ourselves soon.”

“Do you want me to dress, or do you want me to parade about in my smallclothes all day?” he asked, shooting her a roguish grin over his shoulder. “You seem oddly determined to stop me just before I find my clothes.”

“A fine idea, but perhaps we ought to save it for when we have a day alone.” She smiled innocently back at him and raised an eyebrow. “We’ve a meal to get to. Elevenses for me and the children, breakfast for you.”

Gerontius laughed again as she swept out from the room, toying briefly with the idea of bypassing the clothes altogether and going to eat just as he was. But perhaps, he thought, it would not do for the Thain to appear in such a fashion. Chances were he’d find himself without any more peaceful mornings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter takes place in the year 1251, by Shire Reckoning. The child Adamanta bears is her ninth, and it is her first daughter - Belladonna.


	2. Sunflower

Life had worked out excellently, thought Mungo Baggins. For all that it had been a constant struggle for a time, it really seemed as though Lady Luck had taken him back in her favour. He’d finally been allowed to marry the lass of his dreams – after the rather surprising and timely intervention of her revealing to him that she bore his child. Any bad blood there had been between him and his father had been more or less resolved, though even that had taken a good deal of time. And his son was bright-eyed and curious and a wonderful little hobbit.

Life was made infinitely better by being stretched out in bed on a beautiful Forelithe day after a tender moment with his wife, watching her rummage through her wardrobe for a dress. The simple pleasures of life were everything he needed, Mungo thought to himself with a smile when Laura turned around and held up two of her dresses.

“Which one, do you think?” she asked him. “The green or the yellow one?”

“Oh, don’t make me choose,” he sighed. “You look beautiful in both of them.”

Laura sighed and turned to put the dresses away, but paused suddenly and gave him a sharp look over her shoulder.

“You are trying to keep me in only my shift for as long as possible,” she accused him. “Really now, Mungo, you are awful.”

“Humour me, sunflower,” Mungo laughed. “It’s the first time in over a year that we’ve had more than two days to ourselves. I’ve missed this.”

“So have I.” She huffed, but smiled warmly at him. “And yet, our son and your parents are coming back from the Yale today, as are your siblings.”

“And our son is six years old today, I know.” He stretched lazily and reluctantly got out of the bed. “Forgive a poor hobbit for enjoying some time alone with his wife.”

Laura laughed softly as he came closer and wrapped his arms around her waist. Mungo sighed, tilting his head to press a gentle kiss to her neck, and tugged lightly at her shift.

“We should have found a smial of our own,” he stated when she slapped his hands away. “Perhaps Willow Grove. I don’t mind staying here, but we could use a bit of privacy.”

“Having that sort of privacy is precisely why our son was almost born out of wedlock,” she answered, a teasing tone to her voice. “And here I thought a Baggins was meant to be a paragon of respectability.”

“Am I so terribly disreputable?” he asked, matching her teasing tone. “That sort of privacy was nothing you objected to at all, as I remember it.”

“The foolishness of children, darling.”

“I am seven years older than you.”

“And that is precisely why it was foolish,” Laura laughed, unceremoniously dropping the dresses to the floor as she turned around in his grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are seven years older than me, and I was not even of age when you stole me away.”

“Horrible robber that I apparently am, you still did not object.” Mungo grinned back at her and reached up to trail his fingers through her thick brown curls. “In fact, I believe you removed bodice, dress, and shift all on your own.”

Laura only rolled her eyes and leant in and kissed him. As he held her close, Mungo thought back to the day he’d met her, during the dance at the Summer-fair in Michel Delving. It was perhaps not so many years ago, but Laura seemed as though she had not aged at all. Her brown skin was still unmarked, her soft dark curls had not lost their lustre, and her eyes, dark as mahogany, were as bright and warm as they had been then. And having her in his arms, Mungo felt fairly convinced that she would always be the fairest lass in all the Shire, even when time had wrinkled her skin and turned her hair white.

“Sometimes, my thundercloud,” Laura murmured, her lips gently brushing against his, “you can be absolutely insufferable.” She gave him a warm smile and carefully stepped out of his embrace. “Now, we shall have to dress and get everything ready. It’ll be high time for lunch when they come home, and I’m sure they’ll appreciate it if we’ve prepared something. Besides, I really do need to start on a cake for Bungo.”

Mungo gave a theatrical sigh, but did not argue. There would be other opportunities, after all. He leant close and kissed her cheek before going to his own wardrobe. It was something of a relief that he’d not need anything particularly fine, as they would not have guests for the birthday; there was no sense in putting everything on the same day. Both his father and mother would wish for a little bit of peace and quiet when they came home, as would his younger brothers and his little sister. And it was more than simply unnecessary to upset Bungo; the lad disliked crowds, he’d noticed, and perhaps it would be simpler to have a small celebration with only the current occupants of the smial. Bungo could give his gifts in peace, they would eat and be merry, and that would be it.

When he had at last put his clothes on and was buttoning up his waistcoat, he glanced over at Laura and found that she still held the two dresses in her hands and was glancing helplessly between them. Mungo couldn’t help but smile at the sight; she was rarely so indecisive.

“The yellow one, sunflower,” he told her, catching her attention again. “Yellow has always suited you better.” When she still hesitated, holding up the yellow dress as though wanting to look a bit more carefully at it, he added: “Unless, of course, you’d prefer wandering about in only your shift. I certainly would not object.”

“The yellow one it is,” she sighed. “Though I wonder if your preference doesn’t have more to do with my nickname than anything else.”

Mungo padded over to her again and took the green dress out of her hands, putting it back in her wardrobe.

“It has more to do with the fact that you wore yellow when we met,” he answered, smiling warmly at her. “And you shine like the sun itself when wearing it, my dear.”

Laura huffed in response, but she smiled all the same when she put the dress on. He kissed her cheek before he left the room, heading for the kitchen. The sun shone through the window, a distant promise of a beautiful summer. It wasn’t long before Laura joined him, and they set to preparing luncheon together. As they worked, Mungo’s eyes often strayed to her, until the slightest tap of a knife’s edge against his finger reminded him of what he was doing.

Finally, as all the food was finished and Laura set to work on the cake, Mungo sat by the small kitchen table and watched her.

“You could have had any hobbit you wished for,” he said quietly when she scooped honey out of a jar to sweeten the batter. “If you truly find me so insufferable, why did you choose me?”

Laura blinked and glanced at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Is that why you’re so quiet?” she asked. “My dear thundercloud, I was only teasing earlier.”

“You could have had anyone,” Mungo insisted. “Someone closer to you in age, or someone who wouldn’t have caused you so much trouble.”

“Seven years is not a lot,” Laura answered with a laugh. “Yes, perhaps I could have had anyone – but I still chose you. Because beneath the concern for appearances and the stern expression, you were kind, respectful, and trusting. And besides that,” she added with a mischievous smile, scooping another spoonful of honey out of the jar and holding it out to him, “you were and still are as sweet as honey.”

The corners of Mungo’s mouth twitched into a smile, and he leant forward to lick the honey off the spoon, glancing up at her to see her cheeks flush. This was a game they’d played before, and one that he enjoyed immensely.

“That sweet?” he murmured, smile widening a little when she stared back at him.

“That,” she answered firmly, “we can discuss later. In private.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Bungo Baggins was six years old, his aunt Lily and uncle Largo were still not of age - Largo was thirty-two, and Lily was thirty. It is likely that they would have remained in their parents' smial, along with Mungo and his little family, until they came of age and/or married. Ponto, the elder of Mungo's two younger brothers, has in my headcanon not yet married or moved out either, though he is thirty-six at this point.
> 
> No, I don't know why the beds are featuring so heavily, it just sort of happened.


	3. Rosebud

Once, the general opinion in the Shire had been that Hildigrim Took would never marry. He was simply not the type, not suited for it at all. And Hildigrim himself would have agreed and said that binding himself to a single hobbitess would be a terrible crime – how on earth could he do such a thing when there were so many lovely lasses about?

He was certainly no stranger to sharing short but sweet moments with lasses he barely knew, whispering sweet nothings in their ear while unlacing their bodices. But there had never been more than that, though some lasses certainly came searching for him and begged for but another moment of his time. Every time, he’d told them no and said they’d have to find someone sweeter than he.

Because of that, it felt somewhat ironic that he had been the one to start chasing after a lass in the end; when the thought had finally struck him that he had fallen in love, it was far too late to back away to what he considered a comfortable life. Even the very belated revelation that she was but a tween, and sixteen younger than himself at that, had not managed to stifle what he felt.

That was nine years ago now, and Hildigrim found himself quite happy with his marriage to the young Rosa Baggins. It was perhaps not the most respectable one – it never could be, with the rocky start it got. But they lacked no comfort, and their love for each other was still strong.

Having shared a bed with his young wife for just over nine years, it was only logical that they would share a bed when visiting her family in Hobbiton. And after having grown used to her presence, a warm smaller body pressed against his side, Hildigrim felt quite confused to wake up and find that she was not beside him. The room was only dimly lit by the first grey light of dawn peeking through the window, and for all that Rosa was something of an early bird, she would never be up at dawn. He sat up, scratching the back of his head and yawning as he glanced around in the room.

Had it not been for the stark white of her nightshift in the gloom, he might well have missed her where she sat unmoving by her vanity table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming, but shook himself and pushed back the blankets and got out of bed. Something was not quite right, and his wife would not be helped by him going back to sleep.

“You can’t be getting ready already, rosebud,” he sighed as he carefully made his way over to her. “The sun isn’t even up.”

“I can’t sleep,” she answered quietly. “Everything keeps spinning in my head, and I can’t find it in myself to make it stop.”

Hildigrim frowned and reached out to carefully turn her head towards him. She kept her eyes on the mirror, not meeting his gaze.

“Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

For a long while, Rosa was silent, still staring at her reflection. When she did speak, her voice shook ever so slightly.

“I come of age today,” she said. “Today I am thirty-three, and my life as an adult hobbit is supposed to start.” She smiled mirthlessly and shook her head before turning her grey eyes to him. “Today, it was supposed to be acceptable for me to court and marry someone. And yet I’ve been married and had a child for nine years. Nine years, Hild.”

Hildigrim almost winced, and only barely managed to keep himself from grimacing. This, he knew, was very thin ice to tread on. Hobbits were rarely worried about their age, but Rosa had been forced to grow up faster than most. She’d had scarcely four years as a tween before she’d suddenly found herself with child and married off to a tom-fool of a Took more than a decade her senior who’d not thought to ask her age before. At that, a small horrible thought surfaced in his mind, and he looked back at her with a mournful expression on his face.

“Do you regret it?” he asked quietly. “Do you regret agreeing to go with me that time?”

She blinked; the strange look in her eyes faded and was quickly replaced with something more akin to her usual self. She raised an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips ever so slightly – a perfect imitation of her mother’s no-nonsense-expression.

“Is that what you think?” she countered. “That I regret the past nine years of my life?”

This time, Hildigrim did wince. The ice, it seemed, had cracked under his feet just a little bit, and it was time to find a safer spot.

“You sounded so sad,” he murmured. “These years haven’t been overly kind, and I know I’m certainly not the easiest person to be bound to. Having a child to care for doesn’t make it any easier on you.” He hesitated, trying to steady himself before plunging on: “You should have had more time. Time to be just a flighty lass. Time to be with your friends, and to figure out what you wanted from your life. And I stole that from you, simply by making assumptions about your age.”

A small part of Hildigrim wished that he could say they’d had this discussion before. But so caught up had they been in their first stumbling steps as parents and a married couple that they’d not thought to talk about what had happened. They’d been happy – but perhaps happiness could only do so much, and would eventually not be able to sustain them unless they bit into the sour apple.

“What of you?” Rosa asked, tilting her head as she peered searchingly at him. “Do you regret it? You had a life you enjoyed. A life of leisure, where you didn’t have to worry about a wife or a child. Neither of which you wanted in the first place.” She smiled sadly and rose from her chair, carefully taking his hand. “I worry sometimes that you only married me because I was with child. That perhaps all the letters were things you sent to all the lasses you’d had before.”

“Only ever to you,” Hildigrim insisted. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, holding it there for a moment. “I could have walked away, rosebud. I could have gone after someone else when you wouldn’t so much as kiss my cheek. But I kept coming back to you. You talked to me. You wanted to know me, and you disregarded anything I said that wasn’t true.” He smiled, pressing another kiss to her hand. “Nine years you have been my wife, and nine years of happiness you have brought me. I might not have had a choice but to marry you, but I have not regretted a single moment.”

Rosa gave him a long inscrutable look before she tugged lightly on his hand and led him back to the bed. She lay down, curling up on her side, and patted the sheets beside her and waited patiently for him to lay down there. For a moment, Hildigrim only stood by the bedside and watched her. Like this, it was not difficult at all for him to see why he had wanted her in the first place. Her chestnut brown curls cascaded over the pillows, and her brown skin looked darker still against the white of the sheets and her nightdress. Her grey eyes were solemn, though he thought he could see a spark of mischief in them. The way her nightdress clung to her form made him remember how he’d taken her for a lass in her mid-thirties already nine years prior; there was nothing childish about her.

When he did lie down beside her, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close, smiling when her hand came to rest against his cheek.

“You never answered me,” he said quietly. “Do you regret it?”

“I come of age today, and I’ll be celebrating it with my family – with you, Adalgrim, my parents, and my brother,” Rosa said at length. There was no more sadness in her voice, but something warm. “I have a home. I have a son of nine years whom I love very much.” She began to smile, and her hand trailed down over his neck and tugged lightly at the collar of his nightshirt. “And I have a husband of many talents, whom I also love very much. No, I don’t think I regret anything.”

Hildigrim laughed quietly and kissed her cheek, raising an eyebrow when she tugged more insistently at his collar.

“I come of age today,” she insisted when he turned a questioning look on her. Her smile had turned mischievous, and she pressed herself against him. “If we’re quiet, we might not wake anyone with a bit of an early celebration.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The realisation that Rosa's and Hildigrim's son was born when Rosa was only twenty-four years old was a bit of a surprise. And with Hildigrim being sixteen years older, forty at the time of his son's birth, it's not very difficult to imagine the horror their families must have felt.


	4. Spring-apple

Bungo had never been a morning person. There was something entirely inhumane, he thought, about having to get up early in the morning when the bed was so very warm and wonderful. It didn’t help that he tended to be up very late and that it was rare for him to go to bed before midnight, but that was something of a minor detail. Altogether, mornings were simply awful.

After marrying and moving into a smial of his own, Bungo began to consider mornings as something worse than he’d initially thought. While he could easily laze about in bed until second breakfast or even elevenses, stubbornly ignoring his rumbling stomach for the sake of not leaving the nest of blankets, his wife Belladonna much preferred being up and about early to start her day. Bungo was often woken up when she carefully disentangled herself from his embrace, and no amount of pleading could convince her to stay a little longer.

After their son Bilbo was born, the poor Baggins often dragged himself out of bed earlier than he was accustomed to in order to try to be at least a little bit of a responsible parent. It was hardly fair to leave Belladonna to handle their child all on her own, no matter how well-behaved the lad usually was in her presence. But on this day, in the winter following Bilbo’s seventh birthday, Bungo and Belladonna had a rare morning with no hungry child demanding breakfast. For Bilbo was in Tookland on a visit to his uncle Hildibrand and aunt Peony and their son Sigismond, and his parents had a whole month to themselves.

It was still dark in the room when Bungo woke; the sun couldn’t be up yet, and the first attempt he made at sticking his foot out from beneath the blankets confirmed that the room was ice cold. He shuddered and immediately retreated back into the cocoon of warmth, grumbling silently to himself as he reluctantly sat up and looked around. Not even the grey light of the approaching dawn could be seen through the windows – morning had to be far away still, though squinting at the clock on the mantelpiece through the gloom told him it was almost time for first breakfast. The fire on the hearth had burned out, not even embers glowing anymore.

He frowned. Normally when she rolled out of bed, Belladonna would stoke the fire before getting dressed. As it was, Bungo had not been woken by someone moving about, and there was nothing but ashes where there ought to be a roaring fire. And an arm suddenly wrapping around his waist told him that his dear wife was indeed still in bed.

“Don’t get up,” Belladonna groaned. “It’s cold.”

Bungo breathed out a soft sigh and turned his head to look at her, smiling as he saw her giving him a baleful green-eyed stare over the edge of the blanket.

“I wasn’t about to,” he answered. “I thought you’d gone up and forgotten to stoke the fire.”

“In the middle of winter?” Belladonna sounded almost offended. She tightened her grip around his waist, as though trying to pull him back down. “Have you lost your mind? If I’d forgotten the fire, you would have heard me shrieking the moment I set foot on the floor tiles in the hallway. What on earth possessed you to tile the floor there, anyway?”

“It looks nice,” Bungo protested, flushing slightly as he considered how he’d cursed his own decision the very first winter in Bag End. The floor tiles looked very nice indeed, but in winter he often tried to hop from carpet to carpet to avoid stepping on them. “Why aren’t you up? It’s almost time for first breakfast.”

“It’s cold,” Belladonna repeated glumly. “Now lay down again, please, or I’ll take your quilts.”

Quilts. Plural, of course. Belladonna had teased her husband during their first winter in the smial for his stubborn use of at least two or three blankets to shield him from the cold. Come Solmath, she had been burrowing under them along with him more often than not. In later years, it had become something of a contest for them to try to take the quilts from each other – a contest which Bungo often won; though, in all fairness, he often came to bed when his wife was already asleep, which left the blankets free to steal with no grasping hands clinging to them.

“You’d steal them anyway,” he snorted, but he lay down all the same and smiled at her. “Absolutely shameless, you are.”

“If I can’t have my bed-warmer,” Belladonna stated with a mischievous grin, “I will at least have my bed-warmer’s quilts.”

“Bed-warmer?” Bungo sputtered. “I beg your pardon? Is that any way to speak of the hobbit you chose to marry, who built this smial for you when you insisted on not living with either of our families?”

“Built partially with my money,” Belladonna sniped back. “So I’d say those blankets belong to me as much as they do to you. And you, husband, are warmer than I am and you warm the bed beautifully. So, bed-warmer.”

“That word means something completely different, and you know it.”

“Of course it does. I am simply giving it a new meaning.”

They laughed silently, enjoying the easy banter. There were some people in the Shire, Bungo knew, who married someone they couldn’t make laugh, or who didn’t understand their sense of humour. He’d thought often about it, but couldn’t understand how on earth they could be happy with their lives. Belladonna made it all so easy. No one else in his life had made him laugh or smile as often as she had, and she seemed very proud of that.

He watched her in silence for a short while as she wriggled, seemingly trying to wrap the blankets a little tighter around herself. Seven years, going on eight, and he still couldn’t believe that it hadn’t all been a wonderful dream. The eldest daughter of the Thain had been the target for an unreasonable amount of proposals, all of which she had rejected – or had rejected on her behalf by her infuriated father and brothers. She was as fair as an elf-maid to his eyes – though admittedly, he’d never laid eyes on an elf before. But it had to be close, he thought. She had her mother’s thick dark curls, though they were less tamed and easily became a rat’s nest when she’d been outside in the wind for longer periods of time. She had her father’s paler olive skin, and the same invasion of freckles that came with the Tookish ancestry. And she had her father’s brilliant green eyes, like oak leaves in the summer sun.

“Tell me, spring-apple,” he said quietly once he shook himself from his reveries, and immediately grinned unrepentantly when she groaned at the nickname. “Are you staying in bed only for my sake? Because you know I’m unwilling to get up?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Belladonna countered, quickly sneaking one hand into his cocoon of blankets and poking at his ribs to make him yelp. “It makes absolutely no sense.”

“Nicknames do not have to make sense,” Bungo chuckled, quickly trying to block any other ways into the comfortable cocoon. “But as it stands, I like apples, and you were born in Rethe. So, spring-apple. And we met under an apple-tree, so I’d say it fits. Now, might I have an answer to my question?”

“Answer me these questions three,” Belladonna said in a theatrical tone, remembering old stories that her father used to tell her. “Yes, you may have an answer to your questions, husband mine. There’s the first one. And yes, I do know you are unwilling to get up. There’s the second. And I am staying in bed because you are very warm and very comfortable, and I am hoping you will go back to sleep and cuddle with me as you always do.”

“I cuddle when I’m asleep?”

“Like a hibernating bear with its cubs. I do believe it is the best thing I found out about you after we married. But it makes it so terribly difficult to get up in the morning.”

Bungo laughed and unravelled his cocoon of blankets, and reached out to wrap one arm around her waist and pull her closer.

“If you insist, spring-apple,” he stated, laughing again when she groaned. “But remember that I have a bit more practice with staying in bed and ignoring hunger.”

“I’ve no idea why that’s something you’re proud of,” Belladonna snorted, shoving lightly at his shoulder before she pressed closer to him and kissed his forehead. “But if we get too hungry, you shall simply have to come with me as I get up. And you’ll need to stay wrapped around me as I start making food for us. Such is the punishment of being hungry during winter, my bear.”

“A terrible punishment indeed,” Bungo chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her neck. He stayed there, resting comfortably in the little nook between her neck and her chin, and considered himself surprisingly lucky to be a head shorter than his wife. “But today, at least, there’ll be no child demanding breakfast, so we might postpone that punishment for as long as we wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bungo being that much shorter than Belladonna is something I base on the difference between the Fallohide hobbits, whose blood ran strong in the Took-family, and the Harfoots, the most common type of hobbit that I rather imagine the Baggins-family were. The Fallohides were noted for being both taller and slimmer than other hobbits, and with the rather noted example of the Bullroarer, it's not very unreasonable to imagine that the Tooks, although they had mingled with the other types, still had that particular strain.


	5. Waterlily

It was something of an odd feeling, thought Drogo Baggins, to adjust to life in Buckland. While it certainly hadn’t been necessary, it had been a conscious choice; he’d not wanted to force poor Primula away from her family and friends, only to land in a place where folk thought of Bucklanders as queer. The only other option had been for him to move to Buckland and settle down with his wife in Brandy Hall among the Brandybucks. Old Gorbadoc, Primula’s father, had cautiously suggested that his dear daughter would not be happy at all in such a quiet place as Hobbiton, which had certainly helped Drogo make his decision.

As well as he’d come to know the family of the Master of the Hall, Drogo found himself feeling very out of place. Brandy Hall was a very busy place – much like an anthill, as Drogo’s Baggins-relatives had often stated – and there was someone moving about the smial at practically all hours, be it day or night. The first few months had been a very difficult adjustment-period – not made better by him being disoriented when he woke up – and he’d often found himself waking up to footsteps not too far off and wondering if someone had broken into the smial before he remembered that he was not in the Westfarthing any longer.

During those months came a morning during the summer that he, in all his Baggins-sensibility, considered quite odd. He was indeed woken up by footsteps – running footsteps, at that. But before he had a chance to wonder if he was in his father’s home in Hobbiton or in Brandy Hall, the door to the bedroom flew open and the running steps came in. Suddenly the bed shook as a laughing hobbit threw themselves onto it, and long wet dark curls of hair landed over his face.

“Good morning, slug-a-bed,” cried Primula cheerfully, wrapping her arms around her husband. “The sun is up, and you’ve missed first breakfast!”

“I did?” Drogo groaned. “It’s that late already?” He blinked a few times, frowning as he carefully moved her hair from his face. “Why on earth is your hair wet? Is it raining?”

“Oh, no! I simply tore Rory away from Gilda just after breakfast and convinced him to come swimming.” She gave him a sunny smile when he raised an eyebrow at her. “It really is lovely, you know. The river is glorious when the weather is warm.”

Swimming. The mere thought gave Drogo uncomfortable shivers. He’d already learned to be more or less comfortable with the boats, though it had taken a good long while. Swimming was, as of yet, entirely out of the question, for the deep waters of the Brandywine still frightened him. Being in a boat was quite alright; it meant being above the surface and still relatively in control of what was to happen. Primula had tried to coax him into the shallows since Forelithe, when the weather had been just warm enough to allow for a swim, but he had been firm on his refusal. It hadn’t helped at all that Gorbadoc kept reminding him of the fact that those who lived in Brandy Hall were required to learn; living near the river, and being so fond of boats as Brandybucks were, made such a thing a necessity to prevent any accidents.

“I think I’m quite alright watching you enjoy yourself,” Drogo answered at length, sighing as he rolled over on his back. “So you needn’t try to make it sound appealing for my sake, my waterlily.”

“You’ll have to learn eventually, Drogo,” Primula insisted. She still smiled as she dangled a lock of her hair over him, occasionally tickling his cheek or nose with it. “You know that. Do you know that da has even written to cousin Bilbo for advice on how to convince you?”

“Cousin Bilbo,” Drogo stated as he swatted at the lock of hair, “doesn’t know how to swim either. His advice will be to float me down the river in a barrel and hope for the best.”

His wife only laughed, and a small smile tugged at the Baggins’ own lips in response. The odd reference to Bilbo’s stories always made her laugh, and the sound always lightened his heart.

“Barrel or no barrel, you will learn,” the hobbitess stated brightly. “Your family will be scandalised and Bilbo will applaud you and beg you to start climbing trees next.”

“I’ve not climbed trees since I was ten.” Drogo grinned at her as he sat up, stretched, and pushed back the covers. “And I only climbed trees then because Bilbo did. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about being shouted at for encouraging me to climb higher than I actually dared.”

“Why on earth was he shouted at for that?”

“Why, because I got stuck and didn’t dare to climb down, of course. And poor cousin Bungo had to climb up and help me.” He glanced at his grinning wife over his shoulder as he got out of the bed and winked. “Stars help anyone who made cousin Bungo climb a tree. Not that he couldn’t do it, of course, he was hardly infirm. But he got the same look on his face when asked, that Bilbo gets when told that Lobelia’s been invited to family functions.”

Now that had Primula burying her face in the pillows as she laughed and gasped for air. She knew precisely what look it was – anyone who knew Bilbo Baggins did.

And Drogo, as he started to get himself ready for the day, smiled and listened as she tried to stop laughing. Every now and then he glanced over at her, took in her flushed dark skin, her wet dark curls, and her bright blue eyes filled with tears of mirth, and he found himself briefly reconsidering his stance on learning to swim. Perhaps it would not be so bad with Primula teaching him.

“Have you thought about who is supposed to teach me, by the way?” he asked at last when her laughter died down. “To swim, I mean.”

“Well, da would have done it,” Primula answered, still giggling between the words. “But he’s getting on in years, and mum would never allow him to. She barely lets him near the river anymore.” She breathed deeply and hummed, still grinning as she gazed at him. “Rorimac could probably do it. He offered before, remember?”

“I’d rather not bother him,” Drogo said reluctantly as he buttoned his shirt. “He has children of his own to look after, and he has his duties as the Heir to the Hall.”

“Why, master Baggins,” cried Primula, her grin turning mischievous as she sat up and wagged one finger at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me put myself forward!”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” sniffed her husband, though he turned away to hide his smile. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“Any excuse to see me in a wet shift or less. You are absolutely shameless, my dear.”

“My sweet waterlily, I have no idea what you mean. And besides, you have been trying to coax me into learning since we decided I’d move here. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you only want a reason for me to be in only my smallclothes.”

“Or less,” Primula added helpfully as she climbed out of the bed. “Less is always good.”

“You said I missed breakfast?” Drogo asked, deciding that it may be best to steer the conversation elsewhere before he was lured back to bed. That had happened often enough, and the knowing grins of Primula’s siblings later in the day rather grated on the nerves at times. “Well, it should almost be time for second breakfast, shouldn’t it?”

“We’ll take it with mum and da,” Primula said brightly. “And perhaps you could break the ice regarding the swimming lessons a little bit.”

“Oh yes, that’ll go down well,” he snorted, but he smiled all the same when she came up to him and kissed his cheek. “I’ll just tell your father that I want you to teach me, and he definitely won’t be making any jokes about wet shifts.”

“It’s me in a wet shift or Rory in wet smallclothes. Entirely your choice, dear.”

She waited, a tad impatiently perhaps, for him to be ready; and once he was, she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him along, ignoring the covers that were still turned down and that he’d barely been given a chance to button his waistcoat. And all the way to her parents’ sitting room, she chattered on about the possibility of swimming lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's never outright stated anywhere if Drogo knew how to swim or not. But judging basic boat-safety, I'd imagine he must have learned how in Buckland, and when so the time came that he and Primula drowned, he could perhaps have struck his head against the side of the boat if he fell in and tried to get back up. As for Primula, if she didn't have the necessary strength to drag her husband to the surface (especially with both of them clothed), and if the current was strong, it wouldn't be much of a surprise if she was dragged down during her rescue attempt.


	6. Gem

It was not quite so usual in the Shire for male hobbits to be courted by lasses older than themselves, but it was something that occasionally came to pass. In the case of Saradoc Brandybuck, the three years before he came of age had been fairly confusing.

Since he had been twenty-five he’d had something of a crush on one of his second-cousins in the Took-family. Esmeralda Took, however, had a startling amount of suitors even before she came of age, and Saradoc never quite considered that he could have anything more than a snowball’s chance in a fire. His father Rorimac seemed to find it quite amusing and would often ask his son if perhaps he should make inquiries with Esmeralda’s parents regarding who her interest leaned towards. And Saradoc, flustered beyond belief, would beg him not to do so. He didn’t trust his father’s cousin Adalgrim to keep it quiet for a moment.

But the year that Saradoc turned thirty and Esmeralda was thirty-four, the Took-lass came once again on one of her increasingly frequent visits to Buckland to, as she claimed, get to know her cousins better. She never travelled alone – her elder brother Paladin always came with her, and he seemed only all too aware of Saradoc’s interest in his sister. And as soon as Paladin had figured that out, he was loath indeed to let them have a single moment alone.

In later years, Saradoc would often smile when he thought of that last visit. Paladin, though sharp-eyed and stubborn, could not keep an eye on his sister constantly, and Esmeralda was nothing if not a Took. She’d come to Saradoc’s rooms late in the evening, knocking on his window and asking to be let in; and well inside, she had told him all that he’d never thought he would hear. That his affections were indeed returned, and that she was more than willing to wait for him to come of age.

Even now, with a little one on the way, Saradoc found it surprisingly difficult to believe that he’d married her. Their courtship had been somewhat unconventional, as Esmeralda had graciously decided to forego all expectations and had courted him rather than allowed herself to be courted. But she argued that she was older, and that she had been the one to pop the question first, as it were. And if their parents found the situation amusing, well, at the very least they still gave helpful advice during rough patches and did their best to help the couple along.

Though he of course had his duties as the Heir to the Hall, Saradoc was ever grateful to his father for allowing him to prioritise his wife above all else. They had waited with trying for a child, and the poor Brandybuck felt that perhaps that had been for the best. Esmeralda had not taken child-bearing very well at all. Her temper had worsened, and by the time she was in her third confinement, she was unable to stand for longer periods of time or walk very far without her ankles and feet swelling uncomfortably; she loathed not being able to wander about in Buckland with her husband, and she loathed being trapped in Brandy Hall.

“I wish I could be outside,” she lamented that morning when she struggled with her dress. “How I miss the wind in my hair and the sun on my face!”

And Saradoc, already dressed and waiting patiently for her to finish, tried very hard indeed not to roll his eyes at her complaint – she voiced the same one every morning.

“You can be outside, my gem,” he answered her kindly. “But I think that going in search of mushrooms is a bit of a strain on you.”

“If I had someone with me, it wouldn’t be a strain at all,” Esmeralda sniped back. “But no! You had to be busy today.”

“Does it have to be me? You could go with Merimac, or my mother for that matter.”

“You’ve been busy for two weeks! You said your father had agreed to let you have more time with me!”

“And I’ve been putting a lot of work off for your sake.” Saradoc smiled softly as he stepped closer to her to help her with the lacing on her dress. “Tomorrow, dearest. Tomorrow I will be able to come with you.”

She heaved a sigh, but her bad mood seemed to dissipate a little as she allowed him to help her.

“Ever so stubborn, my gem,” he said as he finally tied off the ribbon. “Stubborn enough to move all of the Old Forest and the Barrow-downs if you thought they were in your way. But perhaps your stubborn streak should be aimed at getting through your last confinement right now.”

“Oh, it certainly is aimed at that,” she answered wryly, turning to him and tugging slightly at his collar to straighten it. “But I find, my dear, that it drives me quite batty. So I must be stubborn about other matters as well.” She gave him a dimpled smile suddenly and raised an eyebrow. “You know, if we were to visit my brother in Tookland, or even invite him and his wife here, I’m sure I could aim my stubborn streak at bothering him for a while so that you may get your work done.”

Saradoc laughed and shook his head. While she certainly meant it as a jest, he could tell that there was a small earnest tone in her voice as well. Paladin Took loved his sister dearly, but no one could get under his skin quite the way she could. On their wedding, Paladin had turned to Saradoc and very seriously told him that he considered it the greatest mercy ever bestowed upon him that Esmeralda would move to Buckland.

“They have their hands full, Esme, but I’m certain he would have come,” he stated, taking her hand to stop her from running her fingers through his curls again. He’d already combed his hair, and he certainly didn’t need more tangles to work out. “Though I’m sure he would have seen through your little ruse the moment he arrived.” He chuckled again and reached out to place his hand on the swell of her stomach. “Besides, he already swore up and down in his last letter that they would come as soon as we announced that the little one has arrived. Isn’t that enough?”

“But then I won’t have the will to bother him,” cried Esmeralda. She pouted, though he could see the spark of mirth in her eyes. “I’ll have a babe to care for then, and no time for jokes!”

“How has the lack of time ever stopped you? As I remember, you made sure to place a vole in your brother’s jacket pocket only minutes before our wedding.”

She threw back her head and laughed, her brown curls bouncing with the movement. Saradoc only kept his hand on her stomach and watched her, smiling warmly. Even with her inclinations for driving her brother absolutely batty – which, in all fairness, was not so much difficult as it was hazardous to one’s health – he found her to be the most amazing hobbitess he’d ever met. And her Tookish green eyes, when she met his gaze again, sparked with as much mirth as they had when she’d come to his rooms late at night and he’d been confused as to why she wanted to be let in through the window.

“I won’t use a vole this time,” she promised, laughter still in her voice. “At least I’ll try not to.”

“How about a muskrat?” Saradoc suggested jokingly. “There are plenty to be found down by the banks of the Brandywine.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my darling brother that you gave your input.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Esmeralda is, in fact, four years older than Saradoc. I'm not sure why I find this amusing, but I do. The child she is carrying is very obviously Meriadoc "Merry" Brandybuck.


	7. Rosehip

Paladin Took, the second of his name, was perhaps not the easiest hobbit to get along with. While he would not be the first hobbit to admit that, he would not be very far behind; he knew his rather obstinate nature could rub others the wrong way, and he’d reluctantly admit that it had damaged a fair amount of friendships in the past. But he’d inherited just enough of his father Adalgrim’s charm to either find new friends or repair the friendships he did not wish to lose.

The matter of love was quite another. When working on his father’s farm, Paladin had not had a lot of time for such things; he’d been a hard worker, much to the pride of his parents, though he had to be all but dragged away from his work if there were other things afoot. But one year at the summer-fair in Michel Delving, he’d met Eglantine Banks, the daughter of the head of the Banks-family, and he’d rather abruptly discovered what love at first sight meant – a notion he used to scoff at, when his father told him the story of how he had met Paladin’s mother. But so beautiful was the lass, with her chestnut brown hair and her sharp blue eyes and her hazelnut brown skin, that he found himself forced to reconsider his stance on the matter.

In Eglantine, Paladin discovered that he had indeed met his match. She had a sharp wit, was very devious, and was quite firm on that she would accept no nonsense, please and thank you. And beyond that, she had a fiery temper that rivalled his own, though she was a tad better at reining in her outbursts. Courting her had been somewhat difficult, with their tempers often clashing and causing their families to suggest that perhaps it would be best if they found someone else. But they persisted, and by the time Paladin claimed the office of the Thain after cousin Ferumbras passed, they had been married for forty-two years.

Even the Thain of the Shire, however recently he had claimed the position, could apparently be chased out of his home. It was something of a relief to Paladin that they had decided to send their four children away to relatives during his first year as Thain, to allow a bit of cleaning up and rumour-managing to be done. He’d not had an easy accession, and he did not want his children anywhere near the Great Smials until he felt certain that he could trust each and every hobbit there. Four months after their arrival in the ancestral seat of the Tooks, on a beautiful Wedmath morning, hobbits had avoided the Thain’s apartments like the plague while a gorgeous row took place between the Thain and his Lady. Eventually, the doors had been flung open and Paladin had fled the field, knowing that he had lost.

He’d been out for most of the day, spending his time wandering around and trying to think of what on earth he’d done wrong this time; it wasn’t often they argued about their children, but sometimes they simply did not see eye to eye on how to handle them. But by the time Paladin returned, he was feeling very contrite indeed and was more than ready to apologise.

He hadn’t expected finding his wife still in their bedroom, on her stomach in their bed with her face buried in a pillow.

“Rosehip?” he said quietly as he closed the door behind him. “Tina, dearest?”

Eglantine initially did not answer, but she sat up and turned her tearstained face towards him and held out her hand. He was at her side in an instant and wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes with a deep sigh.

“I am sorry, rosehip,” he murmured. “I know I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Don’t be so harsh on them,” Eglantine pleaded, her voice still thick. “They never thought this would happen either, you know that.”

“I know,” he readily agreed. “I know, my rose, I know. I just can’t think of what to do. It’ll be so very different now, and change will come slowly for them at their age. If it had happened sooner-“

“You would have been just as upset, and the gossip-mill would have been crueller.” She drew back and levelled him with a sharp look. “But you underestimate your children, Paladin Took. Your daughters have good heads on their shoulders, and they will know what to do. And your son is more dependable than you are inclined to believe.”

“And more mischievous than anyone.” Paladin gazed back at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, don’t look at me like that. I know it’s how he handles discomfort. He’ll probably settle faster than his sisters.”

Peregrin, or Pippin as he was called when not in anyone’s bad books, was their youngest child and only son – and the source of many headaches. Paladin felt rather as though he’d been headbutting a wall for twenty-five years while trying to raise the lad properly, and in those twenty-five years he’d gained a belated admiration for his own father’s ability to do the same. Poor Adalgrim had in his time four daughters and one son to deal with, and Paladin had not made matters easy on his parents. Pippin, it seemed was turning out rather the same way.

Eglantine had been very sharp with her husband after it became clear that he would be Thain after Ferumbras’ passing; while she had accepted that her son would naturally be next in line for the rather prestigious position, she refused to allow Paladin to change his attitude. Being more sharp with the lad would not help at all, and would likely make matters worse.

“He’s a farmer’s son,” she reminded him quietly, her features softening again. “Not the son of the Thain. He’ll learn with time, but you must let him settle at his own pace. Of course he must have his lessons, of course he must learn of his new responsibilities. But you mustn’t forget that he didn’t know he’d ever have those responsibilities or extra lessons before last year. Ferumbras waited a little too long, I should think, with telling you that his health was declining.”

Paladin couldn’t help but laugh silently at that; no, Eglantine Took née Banks had not been pleased at all when Thain Ferumbras Took the third called her husband to him in the Great Smials and declared that Paladin would be Thain within less than a year. It had been sheer luck that she had not come with him to that meeting, for he feared what she would have said and done. And Ferumbras, though ninety-nine years of age then, would have been more than able to quell her temper. He’d been formidable, though few hobbits knew it.

“He worried I would find a way out of it,” Paladin stated, grinning when she rolled her eyes and shook her head, her greyed curls dancing around her head. “As I likely would have, given enough time.”

“All the same,” Eglantine insisted. “I will say as I did this morning – you must be Peregrin’s father first and foremost. Being his Thain is secondary. I don’t want our only son to grow up to resent you for a position you didn’t want in the first place.”

Paladin only nodded and took his wife’s hand, pulling her along as he lay down on the bed. There they lay for a long while, eyes closed, only breathing – as they had so often lately, when this new life became overwhelming. Moments such as this would likely grow scarce as time marched on, but they would savour what time they had together.

“Perhaps more practical lessons would help him,” Paladin suggested at length, cracking one eye open and peering at his wife. “Stars know that Pippin can’t sit still for half an hour to save his life, so I’d not set him to help me with paperwork just now. But perhaps he could be shown the more practical matters that the Thain or the head of the family must handle, and learn that way.”

“Once a farmer, always a farmer,” Eglantine stated, opening her eyes and staring back at him with a warm smile. “Paladin the Pragmatic.” She laughed when he quickly ran his fingers over her ribs, and she swatted at his hands. “No, stop that! I was agreeing with you!”

“I should never have allowed you around my father,” Paladin lamented, though his tone was rather ruined by the wide grin on his face. “That epithet will be the death of me.”

“Would you prefer Paladin the Angry?”

“It would be a fair description, don’t you think?”

They stared at each other for a moment before finally succumbing to fits of laughter. This, Paladin knew, was how they had remained married despite their arguments. Loving each other was one thing, but being able to smooth over ruffled feathers and come to a mutual agreement and understanding was quite another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This matter takes place in something of a sensitive time. Ferumbras Took III, having been Thain since the death of his father in the year 1380 by Shire Reckoning, never married or had children. This is strongly hinted to have been because of his mother Lalia, who had been head of the Took-family since her husband's death. And when she died in 1402 (following a fall down the stairs that Paladin's eldest daughter Pearl was thought to have caused in some way, be it by negligence or no), Ferumbras was already getting on in years and likely did not wish to marry any longer. So when he finally passed away in the year 1415, the Thainship was left to his second cousin Paladin Took.  
> This happened very shortly before the War of the Ring took place, and the adjustment can't have been easy on the family. To have been a farmer his entire life and suddenly become Thain, Paladin would likely have had to make some rather drastic changes. And more than likely, he would have had to demand a little more of his children, Peregrin in particular.


End file.
